The Writing Was The Thing

I’ve uttered that sentence a million times, and I’ve been judged on it just about as many times. As people are wont to do, they provide their own valuation to the sentiment. They tailor it to fit their rules, never minding the questions that might lead to a better understanding as to where I was coming from.

The truth is, writing saved my life once upon a time. It saved my too young self from a black hole. It saved me from something that I was too young to understand; something I still do not understand, even now. Writing helped me stay above water when it looked like I might drown.

I didn’t come to writing out of a love for the written word. I came to writing because it provided me with a peace of mind I really needed. It was a life preserver for a boy who was getting in some kind of trouble all the time; for a boy who cursed the existence of God.

When I was a toddler, we didn’t have money for coloring books so my mother would let me scribble my words and pictures in an old dictionary. I truly believe that’s where my ability to cull words out of the ennui comes from. And it paid off years later when I would write whole new worlds into being just so I could live there for a while.

As such, I’ve always possessed a very different take on things. Which is why I’ve never been one for mentors or favorite teachers or any of that. I was bullied throughout grade school, and I was always the one coming to my own rescue. I was painfully introverted on account of the storm which resided inside of me, and so I was easy pickings for bullies. When I fought back I only got in more trouble, so writing became the thing. The whole thing. Nothing but the thing.

When rummaging through all of this with my therapist several years ago, I broke down. I’d never taken the time to process just how heavy all this shit really was, or the toll it had taken on me. I liken it to lifting heavy objects with your back for years and years, until your back tells you it ain’t having any more of it.

That’s what happened as I sat in her office and recounted all those broken pieces of me. I talked about being a boy who wanted to run away and never come back. And from that period in time, I would carry certain beliefs and opinions; skewed and ugly and patterned after what had happened all the way back there.

Well into my adult life, I was averse to most conventions and traditions. I just could not relate to them, whatsoever. All the smiley faced remedies of the world were lost on me. And the idea that “Life is too short,” . . well, that shit just pissed me off. Because to me, life oftentimes felt excruciatingly long. Life, the real deal ugly shit of it, had plundered the most precious of my emotions. And in so doing, I had galvanized myself by making my own rules and abiding by the tenets I trusted. It was either that or losing myself to the darkness and giving in to the voices in my head.

Sometimes you have to make the rules that keep you standing. And mine was a simple one. To make writing the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing. And so, the next time someone tells you something you don’t quite understand . . rather than fill in the blanks according to what works for you, do something else.

To me, being an adult is unlearning all the things you learned as a kid, especially the bad/wrong/self-destroying stuff (if you’re open to it). Good lesson — to toss the ball back to their lap, see what they say.

Yeah, Marco’s really not the class clown that most peeps see on the regular, lol. I guess it was a matter of waking up the realization that I was rarely happy, despite my outward demeanor. It scared me, actually.
So peeling, when I feel the need, is a very good thing for me.

Thank you. This post deviated from the regular hilarity, but I’ve no reason not to share the warts when I feel I must. May this be a lesson for all those peeps who say you can’t trust the internet, lol.

There are certain of you to whom I trust enough to share this stuff. So thank YOU for being one of those peeps.

Vulnerability is the doorway to love and acceptance. It is not easy, we think we will look weaker but in fact, it gives a strength far superior than to what we could ever expect. Kudos to you for putting yourself out there and trusting us with your “stuff”.

I realised that when I was going through tremendous pain and fear, blogging helped. All of a sudden, I was receiving love from all over the world. It was, for lack of a better word, mind-blowing.

I still have shit to deal with and whether journaling with pen and paper or putting it out there for all and sundry to read, feel that each little piece will be taken care of. Eventually.

I never wanted for anything other than the peace of mind to keep on trucking. There are two sides to such a mindset. On the one hand, I truly was appreciative of the little things. Conversely, there is a part of me that ain’t having it as far as the every day concerns of the world go.
There’s so much more to it, but the gist of it is, to be true to myself and to listen to myself. And yanno . . not the voices.

I dunno, Tallahassee…
Besides, it’s better to quit cold turkey. If you bring one on board, eat it then… what? Might as well just rip off the band-aid, so to speak. I’m actually being über kind to you, if you think about it.

It is necessary. Our job as parents is to prepare them for the real world, not coddle them. As it stands, so many are totally clueless and have no coping skills. Can’t be afraid to whup their asses at games at home. No, buddy… you can’t always win. Because in real life, you won’t always. Just the way it goes. So stop your crying and re-set up the game… let’s go another round so I can whup your ass again. Unless you figure out how to whup mine.
Such a simple, stupid analogy but there ya go. It’s how I feel.

With me, it was my old man. He whupped my ass at tennis for years. Until the day came when I whupped his.
We never played again, lol.
You’re right, of course. No lesson is ever learned by getting a participation trophy. Losing is a part of life and to coddle is to compromise their understanding of this.

Ha ha! Love it.
And, I say it ALL. THE. TIME. Stop with the goddamn participation trophies. NOT everyone is a winner. Makes me completely nuts. Let’s all just work at being mediocre. Let’s let everyone make the team…
OK. I’ll stop. I have issues. 😉

I remember my coaches back in school. Crusty mofos. If you would’ve told them to hand out participation trophies, well . . it would not have ended well, lol.
We all have issues Q. The secret is in keeping company with those peeps whose issues jibe well with your issues.

We had three members of the Olympic handball team… they were the types who made you lie on your stomach with your hands behind your back and your chin on the floor… They called it “faire du menton” meaning “doing the chin” Effing hurt, let me tell you.
Yes. Surround yourself with like peeps…

Wow. thanks for getting into my crusty heart. Seriously, thank you for letting those words bleed through, for being so authentic. I too have found writing can exercise things in my soul like nothing else. Thanks for sharing 🙂

I’m so sorry for the pain you’ve suffered but glad you found a way through. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Finding a way through, and hopefully finding others along the way who understand and encourage us. I also began my writing journey as a form of therapy and have found a supportive community here. Thank you for sharing those deep parts. Keep writing!

The pain becomes internalized, and that pain from within is how we get our personality traits. I have been so closely guarded for so long. I’ve trickled certain aspects out there from time to time, but it ain’t easy. At any age. I’m glad you came here and commented. It means so much to me.

“Writing is the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing.”- sounds about right- I really relate to that sentiment. Stories (writing and reading them) have always been a life raft for me, to put it bluntly. Thank you for sharing your story and your reason for abiding by this tenet.

I find myself having to redefine myself as a writer, as silly or cliched as that might sound. Because the truth of the matter is, being published in mags and newspapers did nothing for me. And I carried this fear that nothing I ever wrote for publication would ever excite me. People aspire to such things and there I was, not feeling anything. Because writing had become the only thing that mattered.
So really, I have to find the in between.

Sorryless

Our mission statement here at sorryless is to provide you with the most pleasant experience humanly possible.

Just kidding!

Hit us up with any questions or comments. We’ll get along splendidly, so long as you possess a dark soul and a biting wit. And umm, don’t be a Scientologist. Because that shit is crazier than Trump’s twitter feed.